


i loosen my tie, i loosen my tie

by queenklu



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-09
Updated: 2012-05-09
Packaged: 2017-11-05 01:10:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/400800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenklu/pseuds/queenklu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You draw the short straw?” he asks, and Harvey blinks, because—really?</p>
<p>“No, kid,” Harvey says, waiting a beat. “You did.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	i loosen my tie, i loosen my tie

**Author's Note:**

> This is a surprise!fusion au! I'm 99.9% sure you'll be able to understand what's going on without having any background on the fandom it's fused with, so no worries, but if you absolutely want to know check out the notes at the end.

He’s lean, almost too lean, but maybe he’s quick. His smile goes lopsided when he notices Harvey taking stock, tucks his hands in the pockets of his ratty jeans.  
  
“You draw the short straw?” he asks, and Harvey blinks, because—really?  
  
“No, kid,” Harvey says, waiting a beat. “You did.”  
  
\--  
  
“I heard you’re the best Closer around,” the kid (Mike) says, jogging along at Harvey’s heels like a puppy.  
  
“That’s because I am,” Harvey says, “That doesn’t mean shit for you, though. If you don’t have it, you don’t have it.”  
  
“Nice distancing mechanism.” Mike sounds like he can see a tick in Harvey’s expression, but Harvey knows there isn’t one. “Alright, how ‘bout this. Try me,” he challenges, so effortlessly sure of himself Harvey has to meet his gaze. “I consume knowledge like no one you’ve ever met.”  
  
He’s grinning and young, blue eyes heavy-lidded with confidence. Harvey doesn’t picture his face bloody, beaten beyond recognition.  
  
“That’s a cute party trick,” Harvey says after listening to Mike rattle off an encyclopedia of law by heart. Mike’s smile falters, and Donna shoots Harvey a sharp look through the glass wall of his office. “No,” he amends, fighting a sigh, “It’s good. One less thing to worry about.”  
  
“Did you have to worry about the others?” There’s such bare innocence in his tone that Harvey feels it like a slap.  
  
“It’s a turn of phrase,” Harvey says easily enough, “not implying any sort of actual emotional investment. You’re my Associate, but it’s not my neck on the line if you don’t win.”  
  
It’s meant to put Mike in his place, reinforce the walls the kid is carelessly leaning against. Mike doesn’t budge, but his mouth curls into something more brittle than smile. “Right,” he says, and Harvey already wants to punch him, “I bet we all start to look the same after a while.”  
  
Harvey meets and holds his gaze for as long as he can while turning away, a silent _What do you think?_ before dropping his attention to his cufflinks.  
  
\--  
  
Mike is sharp but he’s not strong. If he lands a punch it hurts, it’ll bruise, but it won’t incapacitate, it won’t do lasting damage. The problem is that Harvey knows Mike could, if he wanted to; if he caught Harvey just right he could bring him low, use that big brain of his to calculate when Harvey’s defenses are at their lowest and raze them to the ground.  
  
“Now isn’t the time to pull punches,” Harvey says, clips Mike on the ear faster than he can move. There’s a knot at the back of Harvey’s throat. Probably a cold; he’ll have Donna get one of the underlings to bring him tea later.  
  
“I’m not—“ Mike dodges this time, bouncing back up on the balls of his feet. He’s tired—Harvey has been running him hard for a few hours now—faint tremors skittering across the scrawny breadth of his shoulders.  
  
“Speed is going to be your greatest asset.” Harvey swings, and Mike proves his point by ducking away. “Don’t be afraid to retreat—strategically. Give your opponent just enough rope to hang himself.”  
  
“Is that what you did?” Mike asks, shadow-boxing around Harvey’s ready fists.  
  
Harvey lets him throw a punch, easily avoided and countered. “You don’t remember?” He isn’t sure if he’s offended or grateful. “It wasn’t that long ago.”  
  
“I don’t watch,” Mike says, body going still, braced, skin shining in dimmed light.  
  
Harvey feels his mouth go dry, swallows against it. “How do you manage that?” he asks, voice perfectly calm.  
  
“I hide.” Mike feints left and Harvey catches his fist in the palm of his hand, a solid, stinging smack. Mike’s breathing is loud; Harvey wishes it was cold enough that he could see it hanging in the air.  
  
“Memory like mine,” Mike says after a moment that’s not as quiet as it should be. He shakes his head. “I can still see the faces of the last Trial I watched. I was five.”  
  
He lashes out with his free hand like he can’t help it, and Harvey blocks that too even though it means he’s all but stepped into a circle of Mike’s arms. And Mike, god, this kid, he doesn’t even hesitate, leans into Harvey like it’s perfectly normal, like—like he hasn’t been touched in a long time. Harvey holds very still, not tense, letting Mike take what he needs. No judgment, not, not giving, just being. With Mike. This kid.  
  
Mike, to his credit, doesn’t cry. He takes a deep breath, eyes closed, forehead almost touching Harvey’s, and then he pulls away.  
  
\--  
  
“Where did you study?”  
  
“Uhh…” Mike cringes, puts down his fork, “About that.”  
  
Harvey feels the blood drain from his face as he listens, no matter how hard he tries to fight it.  
  
“I had to.” Mike’s voice is quiet by the end, but not weak. “My grandmother needed private care, I needed the money to pay for it, and there were a bunch of guys interested in someone else taking the LSATs for them if it meant not putting their name in the hat.”  
  
“Jesus Christ,” Harvey hears himself hiss. His chair doesn’t feel strong enough to hold him up.  
  
“I always knew I was going to end up here.” Mike meets Harvey’s eyes and doesn’t back down. “I’ve got the brains. Teach me how to win.”  
  
\--  
  
Harvey runs him hard, harder than he ran his champions, or any of the other Associates who stepped into his office. Mike does it all without complaint—no, he does complain, but he complains while he works and more often than not he’s really asking for something to be explained. He never needs being told twice, but he’s no mindless robot either; Mike finds solutions using simple but unorthodox means, and looks at Harvey with this grin on his face like he wants a treat. Harvey has to keep his hands busy, or one of these times he’s not going to catch himself reaching out to pat Mike on the head before it’s too late.  
  
But Mike is also not nearly ruthless enough, not callous enough, not experienced in betrayal. Harvey has seen too many like Mike form alliances with other Participants who later stabbed them in the back. Too trusting. Book smart. Not street smart. Not willing to kill for it.  
  
“You have a weak stomach,” Harvey snaps, feeling his own gut roll. “You don’t have what it takes.”  
  
Mike flinches back. Now he knows betrayal.  
  
“Do you even want this opportunity?” Harvey makes himself bite out, half-quoting the Trial’s fucking catchphrase (‘The Opportunity of a Lifetime,’ and isn’t that rich, isn’t it sick) and watches Mike’s vibrant eyes go cold.  
  
\--  
  
He dreams of Mike in pieces, screen-blurred then in Technicolor, then he wakes up choking with the feel of blood on his hands, disoriented grief building into a crescendo of angry disappointment in himself—for dreaming, for letting this kid get to him, for winning, for not winning _enough_.  
  
It’s the night before the last night, and when Harvey pads into the kitchen looking for a glass of scotch to burn the taste of ashes from his mouth, Mike is already there. He’s wearing the same shirt he arrived in, though Harvey saw to it that Rene furnished him with more suitable attire.  
  
“Oh, hey,” Mike says, hand flitting up in an aborted wave before he grasps at the back of his own head, biting his lip. His eyes are red-rimmed, voice strained. There’s a bowl of cereal on the breakfast bar in front of him. “Sorry, I just. Midnight snack, I guess.”  
  
“Really? Because it looks more like a midnight pity party,” Harvey says, because he’s Harvey. He pours himself a glass and brings the bottle over, indicates the stool on Mike’s left. “Can anyone join?”  
  
“Nope,” Mike sighs, waving away Harvey’s wordless offer to share. “Just Participants. Past and present. Cheers.” He nudges his bowl against Harvey’s glass and takes a soggy bite. Chewing looks unpleasant. Swallowing looks painful.  
  
“You should really get some sleep,” Harvey says. He knows other Closers sometimes give their Associates something to help them sleep—he also knows how many Closers keep the drugs for themselves.  
  
“I know you can’t really…afford to have emotions,” Mike says, shoulders hunched like he didn’t hear what Harvey just said. “But, uh. It would be really great if you would lie to me and say I have a shot.”  
  
His voice almost breaks at the last. Harvey has to put his glass down before Mike notices he’s shaking. He’s Harvey goddamn Specter, but—  
  
Harvey sighs, head hung low. “Just because I’m against having emotions doesn’t mean I’ve found a way to eradicate them.”  
  
Mike looks up, too sharp, too shrewd. Harvey can feel him staring, and he isn’t brave enough to return the gaze.  
  
“You’ll do fine,” Harvey says. He isn’t sure if he’s lying to Mike or himself.  
  
\--  
  
“Any last minute advice?” Mike asks and it’s the morning of, both of them running hot with nerves. In ten minutes Harvey has to give him to Rene to get him dressed, and then he won’t see Mike again until it’s over.  
  
“Mike, listen—listen to me,” he says; he has to back Mike against the wall just to keep him still. “Don’t go to trial.”  
  
“What?” Mike’s mouth falls open a moment while he finds more words, and Harvey tracks the movement because he can’t help himself. “It’s the 64th annual Mock Trial, the ‘trial’ part is kind of a prerequisite.”  
  
“No, listen to me, law is about control. The Firm created a scenario with a potential for failure—“  
  
Mike makes a small noise he probably isn’t even aware of, and Harvey clings to his own control by the skin of his teeth. Control that does not extend to keeping a hand out of Mike’s hair, molding his palm to the back of Mike’s skull. Mike—inexplicably—leans into it, turning his face towards Harvey’s wrist, closing his eyes.  
  
“Everything,” Harvey says, voice barely above a whisper because they’re so close it doesn’t have to be, “everything you need is right here. Trust your gut. Trust your brain. Rewrite the rules. Win the no-win situation.”  
  
“Oh, okay,” Mike huffs out, laughing a little, first hint of a smile Harvey’s seen on him in days. “You know, you…giving me advice? Sounds like you actually care about me.”  
  
His eyes are sad, say _I know you can’t afford to_ , and something in Harvey snaps. “You want to know how sure I am that you’ll come back?” he demands, and kisses Mike before he can reply.  
  
Harvey’s own brain is skipping two, three steps ahead in half a dozen scenarios of how this could play out, so he barely gets to enjoy the kiss at all. Then Mike grabs him by the lapels of his suit and hauls him closer, kisses him too desperately to think about anything that isn’t right here, in this moment.  
  
Mike's mouth is eager and warm, and it physically hurts when Harvey has to put some distance between them, enough of an ache that even Harvey can't tell himself he doesn't feel it. Mike must see some of it in his expression because he doesn't protest, just wraps a loose fist around Harvey's tie, smoothing it with his thumb.  
  
"Tease," Harvey growls, tone betrayed by a bleed-through of something too close to affection.  
  
"Promise," Mike corrects, and smiles a breathless smile.  
  
\--  
  
Harvey watches.  
  
He watches as Mike’s pedestal lifts him into view and the clock starts ticking down.  
  
He watches as Mike loosens and removes his tie, just like they talked about—he might need the cloth for a tourniquet, but he can’t risk leaving it to dangle around his neck, begging to be strangled.  
  
He watches as the buzzer sounds, Court in session, and Mike nearly gets eviscerated right out of the gate by a boy Harvey will later learn is named Kyle.  
  
He watches as Mike runs for it—strategic retreat—watches as Mike scrambles to find his feet, watches even when the screen shows him the carnage of the other Participants, refusing to blink until he can get eyes back on Mike.  
  
“You don’t usually watch,” Donna comments when she brings him dinner. He wants to ask how she can eat, but they’ve been so desensitized even Harvey’s stomach is rumbling.  
  
“Not if I can help it,” he agrees, and doesn’t have to look to see something in her expression turn pitying.  
  
\--  
  
Mike forms an alliance with a pretty Paralegal named Rachel, and Harvey wants to throttle him. She’s strong enough that she doesn’t need Mike to survive, she’ll throw Mike to the wolves the moment he ceases to be useful.  
  
Louis picks that moment to strut into the room, to say, “Want to make a friendly wager?”  
  
Harvey breaks his nose.  
  
\--  
  
He’s almost certain Donna drugged him when he wakes up groggy, and he’s also pretty certain he let her. His mouth tastes like cotton, and the joints of his body hurt with a deep ache that tells him even medication couldn’t keep the tension out of him while he slept.  
  
The tv is still on, muted, fireworks and cheering masses blurring together as the red ticker loops over and over:  
  
 _Kyle Duran – Mock Trail Champion_  
  
\--  
  
“Harvey,” Jessica says as she strolls in, paper in hand. He’s made sure he looks exactly the same as always, not a hair out of place, one of Rene’s best standing in as armor—so there’s no reason for the wide, slightly-teasing grin on her face to falter the way it does, like she’s surprised.  
  
“Harvey,” she says again, carefully poking fun at him now. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. You had a great winning streak, but nobody wins every year.”  
  
Harvey doesn’t trust his voice, but he gives her an artfully bored look that says, _You’re telling me nothing I don’t already know._  
  
“In any case, you should be proud of your boy,” Jessica says, moving closer like some sort of dance move. “Do you know how many people have even been considered for a Moral Victory?”  
  
“Posthumously?” Harvey asks, to clarify, automatically counting the few names he can recall, numbly registering the thin ribbon of pride that Mike at least found a way to go out on his own terms.  
  
“No,” Jessica says, pressing the newspaper into his hands. Harvey can’t register what he’s seeing, the black and white photo splashed across the front page with Mike’s exhausted, beaten face staring back at him. His arm is around the Paralegal, Rachel, but she’s the one holding him upright. Kyle is almost entirely cut from the frame.  
  
Jessica is still speaking but Harvey can’t hear her, optic nerves sparking with words like _unprecedented_ and _three survive Trial, viewers stunned._  
  
“He did it,” Harvey hears himself say.  
  
“Yes he did,” Jessica agrees, smirking and victorious. “Go get your boy, Harvey. I want him working for this firm.”  
  
\--  
  
“Hey,” Mike says.  
  
It’s nothing like the hundred or so dramatic reunions Harvey definitely didn’t consider on the ride over. No running into each other’s arms, no swelling violin music—just Harvey in a room, alone one moment, and the next—  
  
Mike smiles, lopsided, cheekbone bruised and one black eye, knuckles split but bandaged, skinny tie dangling like a badge of triumph.  
  
“Come here,” Harvey says.  
  
He saunters over as best he can, only limping a little, and doesn’t stop until he’s close enough for Harvey to touch. Harvey watches his smirk splinter with relief, tucks Mike in close to his body so he can shudder out a breath against Mike’s shoulder, one hand on Mike’s ribs where they meet his spine and the other at his neck, the juncture where it holds up Mike’s singularly unique mind.  
  
Mike fists his hands in Harvey’s shirt like someone might try to tear him away, forehead pressed against Harvey’s collarbone. “I’m sorry I didn’t win,” he mumbles, curving himself closer.  
  
“I’m not,” Harvey growls and tilts Mike head up for a kiss.  
  
\--  
  
“What did you say to Kyle?” Harvey asks much later, after Donna had smuggled them out a side-door, after Mike held Harvey down and rode him until he couldn’t anymore, after Harvey flipped them over and pressed Mike into the mattress and rocked until neither one of them could bear it another second, Mike splattering his belly with a slick hot mess that shoved Harvey over any edge of sanity he had left—after, after, after, when they’re sprawled together in Harvey’s ruined Egyptian cotton sheets.  
  
“Hmm?” Mike nuzzles closer, mouth slack in preparation for a yawn but curling at the corners when he realizes what Harvey’s getting at. “I said a lot of things to Kyle. ‘Your mother was a hamster, and your father smelled of—‘”  
  
“At the last,” Harvey cuts him off, rolling his eyes. He watched the replay on his way to Court, mostly to give himself something to do that wasn't shout at Ray to drive faster. “When you made him back off. The cameras didn’t catch it.”  
  
“Ohh, that,” Mike says, dragging himself up on his elbows to better half-sprawl over Harvey’s chest. He smiles down at Harvey like he’s won something more than his life today, and Harvey can’t quite find the strength to breathe.  
  
“I said,” Mike says, close enough their lips are brushing, “There is a reason Harvey chose me as his guy. Do you really want to know what that reason is?”  
  
 _I didn’t choose you_ , Harvey wants to say, _You were inflicted on me_. But somehow it comes out as a lingering kiss and a murmured, “Good boy.”  
  
Mike laughs into his mouth, kisses and kisses and kisses him until the rest of the world falls away.

**Author's Note:**

> It's a Hunger Games AU, for those of you who peeked! For those of you who didn't, congrats on making it to the end of the fic, which can be found [here on lj](http://queenklu.livejournal.com/379333.html) if you're interested! :D


End file.
